Getting Over Death

Before anyone asks, no I did not experience this, but just felt like writing on the topic in honor of someone who died recently. So here it goes:

Getting Over Death

Getting over death,

Is not like closing the door on a dark room,

It’s a gradual progression,

Like walking down the aisle to an eager groom.

Firstly there is fear,

Then empowerment,

And finally exuberance.

Getting over death,

Is said to have five stages.

Denial.

In times like these that you shake your head vigorously,

As you just cannot believe that the plans and promises made,

And the friendships that were carefully and intricately carved,

Have tumbled down like a toppled house of cards.

Refusal to believe that that person,

The one you cherish so dearly,

Who did not deserve such a fate,

Slipped through your fingers so easily,

To the awaiting hands of the proverbial Grim Reaper.

Anger.

Shaking your fist at the heavens,

Cursing the “all-powerful” gods,

Who simply, in your opinion,

Watched on helplessly,

As your loved one was snatched so cruelly.

By the nimble hands of death.

Bargaining.

All of a sudden, you start to wonder,

Why did I not prevent them from leaving for work?

Why did I not take them seriously when they complained of ill health?

If I had put them in the back,

would it have been me instead if them?

As the unending streams of water,

Flow down your cheeks.

Lashing out at those around you,

As you cannot help but blame them,

In your inability to put a lid on your maelstrom of emotions.

Depression.

Wallowing in your sorrows,

As you reluctantly peruse,

Through what this tainted world has to offer.

Much to the worry and dismay,

Of your close friends and family.

Who, although have pure intentions,

Cannot possibly fathom.

How dark and lonely.

That abyss you find yourself in is.

Finally, there is acceptance.

Although you keep that person in your memories,

You remember the good times together,

Those of happiness and glee,

That bring a smile to your face on the saddest days.

This is when you come to the realisation,

That you are in a better place.

The Not-so-Joys of Form 4

This was my first attempt at poetry and quite frankly something I wrote around the time for my terminal exams to vent my frustrations at my school’s (in my opinion) dysfunctional educational system. So here it goes!

The not so joys of form 4

As we received our report cards we stared at the words

“Your child has been promoted to form 4”

Ignoring the droning voice of our headmistress,

As she intoned about the requisite payments that had to be made,

We daydreamed about the trousers and our elaborate braids and the skirts,

Which signified the much awaited, universally approved,

Death of the ghastly pinafore

We dreamed about joining the coveted ranks of the collegiate,

Emulating our predecessors who were taught by the same teachers,

Watching our juniors who shimmied away in a medley of fear and wonder,

Combined with poorly disguised envy as they watched us go by.

Little did we know that behind the barbeques and the free periods and the electives,

Hid a little gremlin known as stress and his faithful protégé insomnia.

Creeping up on our elated naivety they began to work,

Slowly eating us up from the inside like slowly reactive acid,

Like a worm does to an apple,

Only for you to bite into it,

And recoil in disgust as you stared at its damaged insides.

They ladled us with unending, confusing exercises

Ridiculed us with discouraging scores,

As we stared at our test papers that we were so confident we HAD excelled in.

SAY NOTHING about the teachers who constantly reminded us

Of what seemed to them indifference and laziness towards our respective subjects

In a futile act of rebellion,

We began to skip classes, ignore assignments and got into numerous fights,

Only to be summoned repetitively by the higher authorities.

They threatened, cajoled and when all hope seemed to be lost,

Took disciplinary action.

However we still persevered,

Ignoring the incessant warnings, the pleas and the titbits of advice,

Passed down to as by our nostalgic seniors,

Who only wanted to right the wrongs they had made,

As a sort of penance.

As I sit at the top of this mountain made out of a molehill,

I stare down at the seemingly unending, maddening chaos beneath me

And reflect on the not so joys of Form 4.

To my currently non-existent fanbase…

Hey guys! 🙂 I created this blog as an outlet to vent my frustrations after my best friend (I.O), indirectly encouraged me to, and as a form of a diary mainly because my handwriting would defeat the purpose of a typical diary as it is barely legible.
So I would be posting poetry, my views on life in general and just anything that comes to mind. So please don’t be a silent reader, rather comment, share on facebook or twitter or wherever you want to, tell a friend to tell a friend, it would really mean the world to me. (Wow that was long)

Yours sincerely,
The Misconstrued Teen